


If you become my loyal wife

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Human, Body Image, Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Eating Disorders, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29875164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Nurse Aziraphale is smitten with the new pharmacist...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! It's important to say that Aziraphale looks like Hannah Gadsby and Crowley looks like Davina of course.

Nurse Aziraphale is inspecting her reflection on the currently dark screen of the computer at the nurses' station. That's what breaks are for, aren't they?

She sees a plump woman in her forties; a round face, happy and healthy, as far as Aziraphale is concerned. There's a net of laughter lines by her beautiful kind blue eyes and around her mouth. There's a soft neck. There are short pale yellow curls on her head, unruly and  _ tight _ . Her hair is soft, and a few runs of her fingers through it only confirm it. There's nothing to be done about her curls. They are there to stay and Aziraphale thinks that it's cute too. 

She can't see it on the computer screen but she knows that below her ample bosom which is ample solely because Aziraphale is a whole lot of a woman, there's a soft belly and wide hips. She's wearing her favourite white and pink scrubs, the ones that make her look like vanilla strawberry ice-cream which, in her own humble opinion, is the best look ever. Why would anyone want to look like a half-eaten bratwurst she doesn't know, but that was what the man she's had to help wanted. Maybe he shouldn't have stuffed his urethra with peculiar things to stop his ejaculation. Maybe those things were what led him to insulting the nurse. It ended up peacefully, with the head nurse Gabriel stepping in with his conventional masculinity and little unicorns on his scrubs. 

Aziraphale sighs. She needs a late night of bad drinks and messy sex. 

She preens at the thought of the regulars at the Eden club going silent and holding their breath when she steps in. No one eats out like Aziraphale, she knows how to savour things and she enjoys bringing her partners pleasure… It's a nice thought, but she has her sacred duties, so she lifts up her head when there's a polite cough above her. 

"Eve, darling, is everything alright?" Aziraphale asks. 

Destiny favours Aziraphale and Eve, for every time Eve ends up in the hospital, it's Aziraphale somewhere nearby. As far as Aziraphale knows she's just given birth to her second son and there are some complications. 

Eve shakes her magnificent afro. "Look, I have a few prescriptions and that guy in the pharmacy… Well, last time he told me black people don't feel pain and…"

Aziraphale doesn't want to hear anything else. "My dear girl, you should have told me so sooner! Not your fault of course! I'm coming with you and I'm kicking his arse!" 

Aziraphale grabs Eve's elbow and steers her towards the pharmacy which is at the end of the corridor. 

"How's your family?" Aziraphale asks. "How's little Cain and tiny Abel? How's Adam?" 

Eve starts telling her and it's good, it's soothing, it might make Aziraphale avoid punching the racist pharmacist. She'll use every weapon in her arsenal including her deadliest one - the silly nurse Gabriel who is as white, straight and male as it gets. But he's a slut for some justice, so he'll come and add some toxic masculinity to any discourse without a shred of embarrassment. Ever since Gabriel's eternal crush, a short and morbid pathologist Dr Beelz, came out as agender, Gabriel has been nothing but a social justice rainbow cloud. It's the whole reason behind Gabriel's little unicorns scrubs. 

Aziraphale is in the full battle mode - but when they reach the pharmacy the person to greet them is a beautiful girl with long red hair falling down her perfect shoulders in perfect waves. She's wearing round black glasses and black scrubs with little red ponies prancing around. The trousers are so tight they rustle when the young woman straightens up. Instead of the usual Wagner blessing every patient there's a podcast about Tchaikovsky and his influence on  _ Queen _ .

"How may I help you?" The new pharmacist smiles and Aziraphale has to remember the dangers of looking at the sun. She can't stand the sun. That's why she lives in London. 

The new pharmacist's tag says her name is Crowley. She's pale, as befits a ginger, and she does look like a half-eaten bratwurst. She's tall and slim and has a smile to kill with and die for. Aziraphale coughs. 

"Hello, my dear. You must be new…"

"Oh, yeah, I heard that idiot was some racist pig! None of that now! My pharmacy, my castle, my land, my beginning, my end. Excuse me. How can I help you?" She extends a lithe long palm towards both Eve and Aziraphale. 

Eve takes a look at Aziraphale and reluctantly hands Crowley her prescription. 

Crowley looks at it. The podcast suddenly changes to Tchaikovsky, Symphony N° 6, with all its unbearable shifts and flights. 

Crowley nods at the prescription. Tchaikovsky sighs. 

"This is a baby dose," Crowley says, rocking back and forth. Crowley walks to the phone on the wall and Aziraphale sees Crowley's high heeled pink Crocs. She's doom on legs, she thinks, and these are some rather endless legs

"I'm calling your doctor." Crowley holds the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Hi, hello, pharmacy here. You prescribed a baby dose to an adult woman of colour, so what should it be? I'm sending her to the hospital board or you're scurrying downstairs with a new prescription that doesn't imply you're a racist? It's embarrassing enough that I'm here living up to the whole concept of a white saviour and I'm so not ready for it." Crowley takes off her glasses, squinting her eyes adorably -  _ and sucking on a temple tip. _

Crowley ends the call and smirks at Eve. "The fucker is on his way." 

***

"So, the new pharmacist," Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows at Aziraphale in the staff room. 

Aziraphale groans and drinks her tea without a shred of her usual queenly dignity. "Sin on legs. Sinful, positively sinful." 

Misery loves company, and so do unrequited crushes when discussed between tired colleagues, therefore it should come as no surprise that Gabriel rests his perfectly square jaw on his hand and leans closer to Aziraphale. 

"Do tell me more."

"She's pretty and witty and I don't think she's gay."

"Since when do you assume?" Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows again. They might fall off his face if he keeps doing it, Aziraphale thinks with a certain amount of glee. 

"Fair enough. But she's… I can't even talk about her without stuttering! I stutter when I think of her!"

"Do you think about her often?" Gabriel asks. He's the one being gleeful now and it's unnerving.

Aziraphale blushes. She's been thinking about Crowley a lot, and she has dreamed about her too. 

"She has those long acrylic nails… black," Aziraphale replies dreamily. 

"Is that a problem?" Gabriel asks with concern. 

"No… Depends what you do with them." Aziraphale looks at her blunt well-manicured nails. She likes her nails just as they are, slightly pink, nothing excessive. 

"Naughty nurse," Gabriel says. He used to be insufferable and toxic, Aziraphale reminisces, and then Dr Beelzebub came and oops, now her boss is a gossip girl who accompanies Aziraphale to prides and writes long letters to Dr Beelzebub in the evenings. He reads them to Aziraphale before burning them. Aziraphale has to admit that he's become a sweetheart, but just like before, he's too intense, he's a human bulldozer. 

"I am," Aziraphale admits looking into her tea. "This is indecent. She's a new colleague, and much younger than me, not to mention she's so… divine."

Crowley the divine pharmacist saunters into the staff room and Aziraphale stands up because she's a knight and that's what knights do - they pine and stand up when their crush walks in. 

"Hello, Aziraphale! And Gabriel." Crowley casually tosses a copper lock over her shoulder and starts a wrestling match with the coffee machine. 

"I see what you mean," Gabriel whispers meaningfully.

Crowley is humming something, tapping her nails on the counter and rocking her foot on the tip of the heel. She's so very tall and lean. Aziraphale wants to feed her some cinnamon rolls and ask her if she has plans for the evening because Aziraphale doesn't and there's that bistro down the street…

Crowley is wearing red scrubs today with black prints of Da Vinci's inventions. It's so tight, it hugs her everywhere, not there's much to hug, damn, the girl has to have lunch with Aziraphale for the sake of her health.

"Is that…" Gabriel starts and when Crowley turns to him he points at her shoes.

"Balenciaga Crocs, yes," Crowley says. 

Gabriel is ready to discuss them in depth but Dr Beelzebub storms the room with a yell.

"I'm so out of coffee, barging in to get some. Crowley, you old slut! How are you?"

"You sly fly!" Dr Beelzebub and Crowley exchange kisses. Gabriel and Aziraphale stare at them. 

"Hello Aziraphale. And you," Beelzebub rolls their eyes at Gabriel.

***

A few days later, a few days of agony and accompanying too many patients to the pharmacist, Aziraphale jumps when Crowley barges in the staff room which is a bit crowded at the moment. 

"Lesbians! Are there lesbians? I moved from Edinburgh, I need a rec for a good club and someone with the social skills of a human!"

Everyone looks at her and she blushes. Then everyone looks at Aziraphale.

"I am a lesbian. I know a good club and I have social skills," Aziraphale stands up because she's a knight and she's ready to come to Crowley's rescue. She'll see her sorted out with some lovely girl and she will admire them from afar and if Crowley is heartbroken, then Aziraphale will provide her with comfort in an entirely non-sexual manner. 

"Then could we go to that club on Friday?" Crowley asks in an unsure tone. Foolish girl, Aziraphale would take her anywhere! 

***

Unbeknownst to Aziraphale, Crowley has been hanging out with Dr Beelzebub in the morgue and came up with a brilliant plan of asking Aziraphale out in front of half the hospital under the pretext of Crowley needing a rec for a nice place. Both Crowley and Dr Beelzebub think it's smooth, but then again they don't have the social skills of a human. 

And unbeknownst to Gabriel, Dr Beelzebub told Crowley that Gabriel is a baby and Dr Beelzebub thinks about him a lot, especially during a difficult autopsy.

As it happened, Dr Beelzebub had just had a difficult autopsy and was still covered in blood when they revealed that sappy information to Crowley. They cooed and Crowley cooed too and then they talked about biopsies and oil based hair masks. In Crowley's opinion, Beelzebub's dry black hair needed one desperately, but also there's that new experimental drug that allegedly does miracles for menstrual cramps and that Crowley has read about and can't get her hands on, you know, the usual, and Crowley said that Beelzebub's hair looked like a black lamb perched on their head and they laughed and discussed the whole plan again. Solid, smooth, sexy plan. 

***

And it worked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, it's sad and short and I'm sorry, also there's some mild sexual content.

Aziraphale is inspecting her reflection in her big fat mirror. It's fitting that she needs such a mirror to examine her big soft body. She likes it, she thinks she's made for love and comfort. 

She's fresh from the shower, still wet, the tips of her curls dripping on her back and shoulders. She turns this way and that, raises her arms. Aziraphale never shaves, she doesn't think it's necessary, she considers downy hair in her armpits and between her legs another sign of her overall softness of which she's very proud. 

And yet she sighs. Crowley doesn't like her.

But she sighs again and winks at herself. Crowley doesn't know her well yet, so there's still a chance for them to get acquainted. 

Aziraphale is smitten, there's no doubt about it, and she loves the feeling. It's just that Crowley is so gorgeous, so strange, so different… Aziraphale wants to hold her close and kiss her temples and the corner of her mouth. She wants to feel that flat and lean body against her own, to feel them fit perfectly, Aziraphale's swells and curves against Crowley's hollows and angles. 

Crowley is incredibly sexy and Aziraphale thinks that she'll have a partner for the night but a few minutes after they arrive. Aziraphale won't have any trouble finding someone for herself as well, and perhaps she'll have fun and take things with Crowley a bit slower. Aziraphale doesn't want Crowley for a night, she adores the younger woman too much for that. Aziraphale wants to look at her and to know her well and be her knight. 

She picks a blue suit, the trousers accentuating her thick legs and the jacket fitting her torso. It brings her eyes too. There's a soft pink shirt she likes so much and there's a pink and blue and beige tartan bowtie. 

***

Crowley is biting her acrylic nails as she's waiting for Aziraphale to come. The club is glowing in the dark and there's laughter and music inside - and Crowley doesn't think it's a good idea. She hates crowds, she hates clubs, she can't stand socialising unless there's something to be gained from it and seeing as she wants to have Aziraphale all to herself for an evening, a club isn't exactly the right place. She wants to bolt and go home. She wants to tell Aziraphale that she's never had sex, that she's always been deemed too weird to become friends with… Would Aziraphale want to be at least friends? 

Aziraphale's very presence is all warmth and sunshine. She's soft and graceful, she smiles like she means it, she brought so many patients over to Crowley's pharmacy and she looked so happy every time Crowley glanced at her.

"My angel, my sunshine," Crowley whispers. Her stomach is too flat for all those drunken creatures swarming it and drowning her in tenderness at the mere thought of Aziraphale. 

Crowley closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She's shaved everywhere, she has shaved her pubic hair into a small cloud… or is it a butterfly? Her armpits are smooth and hairless, as are her legs - fuck it takes forever to shave her legs! Her make-up is flawless and abundant, nay, decadent. 

She's wearing wide-leg, high-waist black pants, a white shirt and a black scarf. Her favourite stilettos elevate her above the ground and expose her to the winds, but her leather jacket is draped artfully over her shoulders and she's not putting it on now when Aziraphale might be here any moment to catch her being a dyspraxic crow taking its first flight. 

The jacket holds her hair down on her shoulders, and if she says so herself, when her face is framed like that she looks almost like a Renaissance painting… of someone who wouldn't have survived during Renaissance because Crowley lives off coffee and toast. Everything else just doesn't taste right, although a green smoothie is a must, but she makes it so that it has no taste and a lovely texture. Where is Aziraphale?

Oh, Aziraphale is so lovely! Crowley could have fallen off her heels the first time they met…

"My dear, I'm so sorry I'm late! Have you been waiting long?" 

Crowley turns to see Aziraphale and Aziraphale steals the breath from her lungs. "You look like heavenly ice cream," Crowley mutters. She looks down, a mistake by all means, because the ground is far and Crowley's being a bit sick with how gorgeous Aziraphale is, how she's breathing a bit heavily - she must have walked really fast and for what? For Crowley? 

"Thank you, dear girl! I do love looking like something delicious." Aziraphale giggles. "You look better than Ginger Rogers. Oh aren't you just pretty? Let's get inside! I'm sure you won't leave the place alone!"

And Aziraphale walks to the door. 

Crowley's amorous stomach bugs stop their orgy with a screech. What? What was that? Is Aziraphale poly? No, no way, she would have said so, Aziraphale is ethical to a fault, or so Crowley thinks. The problem is Crowley barely handles a relationship with herself, and a mere thought of more people is terrifying. 

Well, she'll roll with it and besides she can always hide in the bathroom.

Which she does immediately. In the neighbouring stall someone sobs sweetly  _ darling, oh yeah, yes, just like that, oh, so good for me, yes.  _ There's snogging and gasps and loud moans. Crowley has to flee the bathroom too. 

"Someone's having sex in the bathrooms," Crowley informs when she sits next to Aziraphale by the bar. She misses the fact that Aziraphale is being flirted with from every direction until there's laughter. 

"Darling, of course! Why are you so surprised?" Aziraphale smiled good-naturedly. 

"Who's your friend, Aziraphale?" A tall woman wearing a silver dress asks Aziraphale. Her hand is around Aziraphale's broad shoulders and she nuzzles Aziraphale's ear and - it's not a date, is it? Crowley swallows loudly. 

"Oh, she's not my friend yet," Aziraphale replies. "Please, this is Crowley, she's our new pharmacist, and this is Minnah, an old acquaintance of mine…"

"I'm unwell," Crowley stutters out and retreats back to the bathroom where love confessions are exchanged, and it just doesn't help. 

Aziraphale doesn't know Crowley thinks it's a date and now it's too late to say otherwise, it would be impolite, they are not even friends, Crowley has been a fool.

She returns to the bar where Aziraphale and Minnah are kissing softly. Aziraphale is confident, she knows what she's doing, she's oozing desire and willingness… Minnah pecks Aziraphale's lips. "Your girl is unwell, Aziraphale, you're being a bad nurse," Minnah teases. Aziraphale turns to look at Crowley. Her lips are red and she seems concerned. 

"Dear girl, are you alright? Should we leave?" 

"No. No, you stay. Don't want to ruin your evening. I'll see you on Monday. Have a good weekend. Nice meeting you, Minnah." Crowley stumbles outside and takes off her shoes. Damn the silk stockings, she needs to feel grounded, so she walks barefoot to the station and goes home. Her phone buzzes several times but she ignores it. 

Minnah and Aziraphale know each other, one. Are they together? They don't seem to be. Crowley knows nothing about such things, two. Crowley will have to be clearer in the future, three. It's hard to be clear, it's hard to talk and it's hard seeing Aziraphale with someone else knowing that Crowley can't ever be that confident and straightforward. 

She wants to call Beelzebub but she doesn't want to talk to anyone. 

She's jealous, isn't she? It's ugly, to be jealous. She wouldn't want Aziraphale to be jealous, that's for sure. She would want to kiss Aziraphale. She's never wanted to kiss someone real before. 

***

Aziraphale is between Minnah's legs, sucking on her clit and listening to her gasps and moans. Crowley hasn't replied and while Aziraphale is worried, she knows that new places can be overwhelming. She's yearning for the easy intimacy of casual sex, just something human and soft, so she isn't feeling too guilty about pleasuring Minnah, and Minnah is so good with her fingers, Aziraphale is so sore from her ministrations and so wet too… 

Minnah kisses Aziraphale good night and calls for an Uber. They both like it that way, easy and familiar, no strings attached, no heartbreak. It's a precious understanding. 

Aziraphale feels a bit hollow, though. She's upset that Crowley didn't get to enjoy the evening. The poor girl looked so scared and confused. Aziraphale decides she'll take her out to that bistro.

***

"Gabriel!" Dr Beelzebub calls and Gabriel melts a bit. 

"Yes! How may I help?" He turns to them, smiling and hopefully sexy.

"Do you want to come down to the morgue with me and sit there quietly?" Dr Beelzebub offers. 

"I'd love to!" Gabriel replies honestly.

So they sit in the morgue looking at the fridges. Gabriel steals a glance at Beelzebub every now and then. 

"Do you think my scrubs are funnier than Crowley's?" Gabriel asks.

"No. Hers are better. But she doesn't like sitting in the morgue with me. I wouldn't offer it to her, to be honest. I wanted to sit here with you. It's calm and silent."

"It is," Gabriel agrees easily. He would have been shocked had someone told him years ago that he would enjoy such an activity, but fuck that idiot, he didn't know Beelzebub, and Gabriel would do anything for Beelzebub. He wouldn't even have to make an effort. He's making none right now. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm on fire. No, I can't just go slow and leave it there and post like normal people. I'm prone to oversharing.

Aziraphale has a night shift on Sunday, so Monday morning she can only catch a glimpse of Crowley coming to work, high heeled and knee high boots with complicated lacing clacking against the hospital floor, an assured sway of her slim hips and her hair just perfect, and oh, when she emerges from the locker room, she's wearing green scrubs with golden butterflies. What a way to start the day, Aziraphale thinks, seeing Crowley the first thing in the morning as she's owning the world with divine ease. 

Tuesday morning Aziraphale walks another patient who doesn't need being walked to the pharmacy, to the pharmacy, because one can never be too careful. Crowley gives her a sharp smile and a slight nod of her head. The day is busy so it's all Aziraphale gets until her break, and then Aziraphale leans on Crowley's counter.

"How are you, dear girl? I was so worried! Are you alright?"

Crowley turns to her, hastily putting her black glasses back on. "I'm alright. Sure. Sorry to have stood you up, though you seem to have been doing quite well for yourself." If Crowley winks, Aziraphale doesn't know, and Crowley must realise that because she suddenly lets out a loud sigh and rubs her face. "I'm sorry. I'm… Fuck, I can't talk right now." 

***

Crowley watches in horror as Aziraphale's lovely face clouds over with confusion. She just can't have a break, can she? It's not enough to be a human disaster, now she brings clouds and maybe even storms, although that would be really awesome, come think about it…

"Hey, it's fine. Just… we'll talk, ok?" Crowley makes the boldest move of her life and covers Aziraphale's hand on the counter with her own. 

"I'd really love to, my dear. There's this lovely little place down the street, how about we go there after work for a bite of supper, m?"

Crowley wants to hold Aziraphale and tell her she's the sun and the moon and the sea and, fuck, someone needs to stop her brain from running so fast. "I'd love to!"

***

"Someone has to feed you, my dear, and I'm good at providing food!" Aziraphale laughs and feels a proper knight who will feed her lady love and watch those hollow cheeks fill up adorably with some particularly delicious morsel…

She turns her hand over and squeezes Crowley's, so delicate and sharp, and oh, Aziraphale will serve her and fight for her and go on long rides with her. 

***

Crowley stares at Aziraphale's retreating back and breathes out a  _ ngk. _

***

"So, they come over and ask me to sit with them in the morgue! A date, Aziraphale, a proper bonafide date!" Gabriel is so excited. 

"This is - lovely? If the morgue is your - venue." Aziraphale is a bit confused. She's not judging him or Dr Beelzebub, to each their own, of course.

"My venue is any venue where Beelzebub wants to sit with me!" Gabriel proclaims. He's wearing scrubs that seem to have been made from the most deplorable curtains an old cat person could wish for - huge pink flowers and kittens and teapots. Apparently there's some unspoken kind of one-upmanship between Crowley and Gabriel, although Crowley would probably be seen dead in such scrubs, and the irony!

"And how was your outing with Crowley?" Dr Beelzebub asks. They must have just entered and they look smug and morbid.

"Oh, the poor girl wasn't feeling so well and left almost immediately. I hooked up with an old friend and…"

Dr Beelzebub storms out in fury.

"What did just happen?" Both Gabriel and Aziraphale ask each other and then Gabriel storms off to follow his pathologist to the ends of the morgue.

***

"Well, I was there. I can assure you no one realised it was supposed to be a date." Gabriel gingerly rubs Beelzebub's back.

"But she came in yelling… Oh… now I see. Do you think she sees it? I need to talk to her!"

Gabriel follows Beelzebub to the pharmacy like a loyal curtain but Crowley is busy sassing out some idiot who insists that more vitamins could heal his ulcer and that Crowley has no right refusing to sell him some more. 

"I can kill him," Dr Beelzebub offers helpfully making the man jump. 

"He's doing it just fine on his own," Crowley says through her teeth then turns to the man again. "Here's your antibiotic! And I'm not selling you any vitamins at all!" With that she turns her back on the man and saunters into the backroom.

"She's so right," Dr Beelzebub says to the man. "See you in the morgue. Be clean." The man scurries away. He's probably traumatised a bit, but Dr Beelzebub doesn't care much. 

***

Aziraphale is wearing a soft beige turtleneck and white woollen trousers. She's like a floating creme brulé. 

Crowley is wearing her wicked boots of wickedness and very tight black jeans - and a black turtleneck. They match in the fact that they don't or something. 

Aziraphale beams at Crowley and they walk to the bistro where there's a corner table available for them. This is the best, the weather is lovely… 

"Would you like to feed the ducks after we're done eating?" Aziraphale asks. 

"Oh, I'd love to! What should I order?" Crowley visibly swallows and looks stressed. 

"Dear girl, please, don't be cross with me but I need to ask you something."

"I don't eat much and I mostly eat toast and I…" Crowley blurts out.

"Oh, sweetheart!" Aziraphale can't help but grab Crowley's hands. 

"I've never had sex, never been in a relationship and I'm too weird and I thought…"

"You thought we had a date," Aziraphale sighs and feels awe and pride. Her lady love picked her for her first romance - is it a romance? And she doesn't eat enough! 

"I did! I'm sorry I presumed, it was ridiculous." 

"It wasn't, darling girl, I'd love to go on a date with you!" Aziraphale brings Crowley's fingers to her lips. "How about this is our first date?"

"Ngk," Crowley replies honestly. 

***

Aziraphale picks a plate of roasted vegetables and some garlic bread for Crowley and goes for some soup of the day (tomato!). "I'm going to eat some of your garlic bread," she warns. 

"This is the hottest thing I've ever heard," Crowley admits. 

Aziraphale can't help giggling. Her gorgeous girl is so gorgeously hopeless. 

"What's your favourite book?" Aziraphale asks before taking a spoonful of soup to her mouth and moaning when the smell of basil reaches her nose.

"Scratch that, this is the hottest thing I've ever heard," Crowley says.

"Darling, eat your meal, be a good girl."

"You're ruining me, angel… Fuck, sorry!"

"First, I'm not ruining you yet. I need to know about your favourite book to do that. Second, no one has ever called me angel!"

"Idiots, the lot of them! You look like an angel and you fuck your soup!"

"I might be," Aziraphale grins and takes a slice of the garlic bread. 

Crowley absentmindedly eats a roasted aubergine. "Slimy… I love slime molds! Do you love slime molds! They are so social! Much more social than I am! And my favourite book is Maimonides medical treaties, the man surely knew how to think clearly - and I don't! Also, slime molds…" 

Aziraphale wants to have her on the table. She keeps talking about slime molds, hands and arms moving wildly, retelling a book about slime molds to Aziraphale in detail and with remarkably good explanations that she inserts every time Aziraphale frowns, totally misreading the frown: Aziraphale wants her to eat… and the dear girl thinks Aziraphale is confused over some amoebae. 

Aziraphale learns that Crowley loves going into the woods looking for slime molds. It's all about slime molds. 

Aziraphale sighs, picks a roasted carrot and carefully brings it to Crowley's lips. 

"This is a carrot, Crowley. It's happy to make your acquaintance and wonders whether you're as sweet on the inside as you're on the outside." 

Crowley groans and eats the carrot. "I shouldn't talk about the slime mold, right?"

"Why, you  _ must  _ talk about the slime mold, darling. You talk and I'll feed you."

Crowley eats obediently. They made the vegetables without much seasoning, as per Aziraphale's request, so she manages to eat well… Aziraphale is proud of her and of herself. 

Crowley has managed to grow a slime mold at home and called it Bentley because it's gorgeous. 

"Should have called it Crowley, then," Aziraphale says innocently and it renders Crowley speechless. 

"What… what's your favourite book?" She finally asks. 

"Mine? Oscar Wilde is my favourite. And Shakespeare… I do love  _ Mansfield Park. _ "

"There could be a great love story between Fanny Price and Mary Crawford!" Crowley agrees. 

"Indeed! Fanny is wasted with Edmund!" Aziraphale nods. 

***

When they step outside, it's dark and rather cool. It's about to rain. 

"It… it was wonderful, angel. Thank you, thank you so much!" Crowley is emboldened so she leans and gently kisses Aziraphale's temple. "I… I do hope…"

"We should do it again," Aziraphale says. She's a bit dizzy with how close Crowley is. "If… if it's…"

"Please," Crowley whispers and kisses Aziraphale's other temple. "Pretty angel… so good and gentle and smell so good…" 

Raindrops fall on their heads and they rush to the station, laughing and - and somehow Crowley totally runs in high heels. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a difficult chapter. Content warnings include: discussions of negative body image, references to past bullying and systemic homophobia, brief discussion of eating disorders and alcoholism. Please be careful and know that you're precious.

Aziraphale climbs out of her shower and, leaving wet footprints on her many fluffy carpets, makes her way to her mirror. 

Call her vain if you dare. 

Aziraphale enjoys life, the sensation of being alive, all this electricity running through her and letting her see and hear and taste and touch. Her body is as comfortable to her as her old armchair and her favourite mug and her worn out pyjamas. She's happy to see herself being pink after the shower, although it's not just the shower - it's the additional, delirious energy of wanting someone and being wanted in return. Her body doesn't feel just hers right now, it's stretching and reaching out to Crowley somewhere in her own apartment. 

With a sigh, Aziraphale towels off, satisfied by the soft fabric and the way it rubs against her sensitive skin. She puts on an old white tank top and flannel pyjama bottoms, gets into bed, as soft as the rest of her flat. 

There's a book waiting for her, but she doesn't want a book, she realises, and it makes her laugh. Nothing could ever make her refuse a book, no love, no infatuation, no amount of good sex or exhausting work. She doesn't want to read unless she reads about Crowley, of whom unfortunately there are no books yet.

Aziraphale pulls out her phone instead.

_Me: Evening, darling. I'm safely tucked in bed and thinking of you so much I can't read. How are you?_

_Crowley: Hello, angel. I'm in bed too. Doubt I will be able to sleep because you're too gorgeous and my brain is not good enough to conjure me a good copy at night. I'm so fucking cheesy._

Aziraphale is in the middle of typing her equally cheesy reply when there's a new message from Crowley.

_Crowley: Look, I can be so brave, just watch me. What are you wearing?_

Aziraphale can't help laughing at her sweet girl's bravery. She'll make a fine knight herself, Aziraphale thinks, and then they can be knights together. The thought is so Crowley in how overwhelming and badly expressed it is, that Aziraphale can swear she's trembling with how tender her feelings are. 

_Me: My pyjamas._

Aziraphale takes a picture that shows her chest and shoulders and face and a bit of the fantastic flowery glory that is her bed linens. 

_Crowley: You're gorgeous. Here's me. Beware, no make up and just… just me._

Just Crowley is wearing a sweatshirt that's seen much better days, her hair is braided for the night and her smirk is both vulnerable and so, so naughty. 

_Me: Sweetling, you're stunning. Thank you for showing this just you to me. Can I see your legs?_

Aziraphale gets a picture of Crowley's legs disappearing into the horizon of Crowley's bed. Her sheets are black of course. Her pyjama bottoms have seen better days too but appear to be warm and comfortable. 

_Crowley: We've just had one date and I don't know how one does it… But I'd kiss your shoulders. All of them. So round and pretty. I'd bite you too._

_Me: Lick me._

Aziraphale doesn't even blush but her heart is beating fast and her breath is heavy. 

Crowley sends her a selfie that is mostly her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Her eyes are crossed.

_Crowley: Fuck, my eyes are crossed! It was supposed to be sexy!_

_Me: It is, very. Do you want to lick something else?_

_Crowley: I have a list. But I guess you need to sleep. Do you need to sleep? Do angels sleep?_

_Me: This angel does unfortunately. I'll dream of you naughtily._

Crowley sends a dreamy selfie, she looks a bit sad and she's looking into the camera with such yearning, such adoration. Her eyes must be light sensitive because she's squinting but they are still bright in the shy way of the the first rays of sunshine after rain. 

***

Crowley digs herself under the blankets and bites her lips. She can do it and she's in fact invincible. She can do it. From under the blankets, perhaps, but baby steps. 

***

Crowley is smoking under the pretext of waiting for Aziraphale - or is waiting for Aziraphale under the pretext of smoking - it's hard to tell. Aziraphale has an afternoon shift and Crowley has brought her something which is now tucked under her arm. It's cold and sunny outside, the worst weather for Crowley.

The moment Aziraphale approaches, Crowley tosses her cigarette away and runs towards her, to mutual delight.

"Hey, angel. I… I brought you something. You have an afternoon shift and I wanted you to have something to nibble on, so I brought you the garlic bread from yesterday, because you liked it, and if you like something, you should have it, and…" 

Aziraphale tips Crowley's face down gently and kisses her on the lips. 

"My darling, sweet girl, do shut up."

"Ngk." Crowley offers Aziraphale a brown paper bag which smells lovely and Aziraphale even wiggles from how much she's enjoying it. 

"Let's get inside, Crowley. It's cold and you're only wearing your non-jacket over your scrubs…" Aziraphale takes a moment to appreciate the scrubs of the day - scarlet with the blue pills print. There must be some reference there, Aziraphale suspects, but it's of no importance. Crowley almost runs into the garbage bins, swaying on her heels and still dumbstruck from that tiny kiss. 

Once they are in the locker room, Crowley gathers herself back together enough to put her palms on Aziraphale's shoulders and lean down for another kiss. She moans into Aziraphale's lips, something wounded, something alive, something yearning. "More… we'll… can we have more?"

In lieu of the answer, Aziraphale stands on her tiptoes and kisses Crowley again. She tastes like a fig - a far more fitting forbidden fruit, although there's nothing sinful about Crowley, however hard she tries to achieve the opposite. 

Aziraphale tucks a lock of her hair behind one pink and delicate ear.

"You're perfect, my darling, and I'm so glad you found me."

"Nah, angel, you found me. You're gorgeous. I want to feed the ducks with you."

They agree to do it the following day after work and Crowley asks for Aziraphale's home address _for nefarious purposes_ , that in the end turn out to be a bouquet of green carnations. And here Aziraphale was thinking _she_ was the knight. 

***

Crowley is braiding her hair and _thinking._ It's entirely understandable if she doesn't text her girlfriend of two days in the evening, but if she doesn't and - even worse - if Aziraphale doesn't answer, Crowley will feel anxious and lost. 

She walks to her bathroom and looks into the only mirror in the flat - the one above the sink, which she keeps foggy. She doesn't want to see herself. 

She knows that all the outfits are made for a girl like her, she doesn't even need to try on new clothes, besides all the fitting rooms have mirrors and Crowley doesn't like mirrors. 

_Freak_

_Stick_

_Such a girl_

_So bony_

_No substance no wonder you love chemistry you need to brew yourself some_

_Eat_

_Eat_

_Eat_

Her mothers never forced her to eat and caused enough trouble for her teachers and school once they figured out she was bullied. But they still begged her to eat, fearful of the social services to come and take her away. They didn't say it in front of her but she heard enough.

_Look me in the eye girl_

_No boy will want you_

_No girl will want you_

_You're too femme to find a girlfriend_

_No one will want you_

_You're a freak_

_Go join a circus freak_

_You run so fast because you know what will happen when we catch up with you_

_You're garbage you eat chocolate and you are skinny you're garbage garbage garbage_

_Where are your breasts freak_

_Where are your hips freak_

_Freak freak freak_

_Look me in the eye look me in the eye look me in the eye disrespectful girl_

_No one will want you_

_No one will want you_

_No one will want you_

_You can't be here you can't just walk in and pretend you're not showing off how skinny you are no one wants a walking talking eating disorder here you don't belong here you can't be a lesbian you're frigid and cold you're a freak_

Crowley takes the foggy mirror off and storms out of her flat to toss it into the garbage bin outside. It falls into the empty space with a loud clunk. 

She goes back to her flat and into her bad. Her phone is buzzing.

"Yeah, hello, angel!" Crowley tries to sound cheerful. 

"My darling, what is wrong? Is that a bad time?"

"Never. Just… did you like the flowers?"

"So nefarious, darling. You worry me, though. What is it?"

"It's… memories. I wasn't popular anywhere. I'm afraid." Crowley bites her lip. _A weak weak weak girl. A girl. Such a girl. You're such a girl._

"You're very popular with me, if it's any help," Aziraphale replies softly. "I'm about to suggest something a bit unhealthy but… sex always makes me feel better. It's just hormones."

"I'd fucking ravish you," Crowley says with a sob. "I'd love to get lost there. In you. With you. Is it unhealthy if it feels good?"

"I'm not sure, but you sound so distressed… And you don't want to talk."

"I don't, angel. I want to feel… human."

"So… can I try something with you, my beautiful girl?"

"Yes, please."

"So listen to me, you pretty creature. You're stunning. I bet you never need to wear a bra."

"Never."

"So if I were naughtier than I am, I'd run my hands up your flanks and touch your nipples every time we're are alone, every time we run into each other at work. Every time I see you, I think how you seem to yearn for a touch, and I have so much tenderness and pleasure to give you. I haven't ever felt such urgency to touch someone. I want to feel you, I want to stay with you and touch you, touch you until you're pink and shaking in my arms. I'll hold you up, dear girl, I'll hold you tight, so tight. My personal record is ten orgasms. How many times will you come for me?"

"I'll always come for you," Crowley whispers back. "I always want to come to you and for you. I always want to find you. Is it foolish to want you so much while we barely know each other?"

"No. It's not. It's just like with the food, darling. Every new cake I taste, I want to taste it forever. You're not a cake, of course… Now I'm being foolish."

"You're not foolish. You're tender. No one has ever compared me to a cake. People love cakes."

"You're my churro, Crowley. Long and thin and narrow and lovely. My sweet, impossible girl."

"Why… why do you want me?"

"Because you're snarky and you grow slime molds. Because you're the first person ever to have sent me flowers. I've been told I'm too masculine to be sent flowers to. And you didn't give a damn."

"Can you… I… what's your body temperature?" 

"Close to 37C, I suppose. Why?"

"Can imagine it better if there are numbers."

"Oh… oh, that's lovely."

Aziraphale tells Crowley her weight and height, her measurements. Crowley doesn't feel ashamed of finding it more arousing than when Aziraphale speaks about touching her. Crowley has numbers so she can imagine Aziraphale perfectly clear. 

"I don't like looking at myself," Crowley admits and tells Aziraphale about the mirror. 

"Then don't look at yourself, churro. I'll look at you. Lord knows I love what I see… Churro?"

"Angel?"

"I promised you sex and I haven't delivered."

"Well, you don't know my address."

"True… does it bother you when I say I want to feed you?"

"No. You don't do it like the rest. Moms taught me to find a way to get all the necessary stuff inside my body. You enjoy food and I want to enjoy it with you. Garlic bread was good. I like wine. I had a problem with wine in college. The world is a better place after a bottle of wine."

"Do you have some?"

"No. I can't. I'll get drunk and I don't want that again."

"Alright. Alright…" There's a silence between them, charged and messy, the primal state of the matter, even before it becomes the matter, Crowley thinks. 

"Go to sleep, churro. We'll feed them ducks tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of careful and tender smut. I'm back to work tomorrow and I don't know when I will be able to update... I'm sorry.

Crowley is walking on air. No gravity, no law has any hold over her, so she's sauntering down the street to the hospital, her high heels making her feel mighty and powerful and her thoughts occupied by Aziraphale. They will have a day of work, good and meaningful, and then they'll walk to the park - Crowley has researched the topic of duck feeding at night because who needs sleep when one is in love and has a room full of high heels and wicked jackets? Perhaps they'll have dinner too. Perhaps Crowley will be so drunk on the company that she will ask Aziraphale to stay at hers… 

Oh fuck! 

Crowley stumbles and almost falls. She makes it graceful, well, as graceful as it could be, she hopes, and keeps thinking. Does she have a spare toothbrush? Does she have a spare whatever? Does she have the guts to ask Aziraphale to spend the night at Crowley's? Crowley would rather spend a night at Aziraphale's, but on the other hand…

On the other hand Crowley has no idea what she's doing. Is it too fast? Is it too slow? How to show interest without being clingy? How to be clingy without showing that you're clingy? This is so hard! And Aziraphale is so soft and lovely and smiling at her from her thoughts. Crowley even adds a hop or two to her step. 

***

When Aziraphale enters the staff room, it's empty but there's a cute pink and purple box on the table with a note that it's for her. Inside there's an apple pie. It's not as warm as Aziraphale is feeling inside. 

***

Dr Beelzebub and Gabriel eat their breakfast down in the morgue. It's quiet and nice. Not the first place Gabriel would have thought of but it's - nice. Beelzebub is sitting close to him. They aren't talking and that's nice too. 

***

Crowley throws herself into work. Otherwise she'll just think about Aziraphale and all the naughty things she's read about but failed to imagine and has been too afraid to ask. Her scrubs are black today and she doesn't smile much because she's focused and so professional it hurts. 

***

Turns out Crowley doesn't like the ducks and the feeling is mutual. On the other hand, both the ducks and Crowley adore Aziraphale. One would think they'd bond over it, but the ducks are possessive, which makes Aziraphale laugh, so Crowley isn't very cross, although it's pretty uncomfortable to sit with her heels on the bench. Her jacket does nothing to save her from the evening chill, but, ha, who cares. Certainly not Crowley.

"I could cook us dinner," Aziraphale offers. She frowns when she notices that Crowley is shivering with cold, even though the cold does nothing to make Crowley look any less appealing. 

"My dear, I'm sure they are harmless."

"Not risking myself, angel. Nope. Never."

"Silly churro. Alright then. Will you honour me with cooking you dinner?"

Crowley just nods. She doesn't mind being cold and she minds even less when she spends their ride tucked into Aziraphale's arms while Aziraphale whispers that she's a wicked frozen girl who needs all the body warmth Aziraphale can muster. 

In the end, Crowley is wrapped around Aziraphale as Aziraphale is cooking. 

It's a simple mushroom soup. Aziraphale doesn't season it to her liking so that Crowley isn't bothered by the strong taste. There is some grilled salmon in the oven - Aziraphale intends to make it into a souffle, so it's soft. 

The food is cooling hopelessly because at some point Aziraphale puts her hands on Crowley's hips and then they are kissing. Crowley is messing Aziraphale's curls and gasps into her mouth when Aziraphale grabs her arse, but she's too invested in the kissing to pay too much attention to something else. 

Crowley learns the curve of Aziraphale's mouth and Aziraphale's mouth too; Aziraphale learns the way Crowley trembles when her neck is touched or when Aziraphale pulls her hair just a bit. Crowley feels Aziraphale's pulse when she touches her neck or kisses her there - it's cranberry as it should be when Crowley feels Aziraphale's pulls against her lips; Aziraphale teases Crowley's nipples under her emerald green jumper. Crowley thinks she might just be discovering that she has nipples. 

"My… my panties are wet," Crowley whispers guiltily. Aziraphale's eyes glow in the twilight. 

"I certainly hope so… can I taste?" Aziraphale bites Crowley's nose.

"Fuck… fuck, yes, fuck… angel… angel, you must be hungry, angel…"

Aziraphale is on her knees and unbuttoning Crowley's tight jeans and pulls both the jeans and the underwear down Crowley's smooth legs. 

"My girl… so pretty, so wet for me… Oh dear!" Aziraphale leans back on her haunches looking at a cloud between Crowley's legs. "Darling, are you sure I can eat out this art project?" Aziraphale smirks from the floor.

"Ngk. I… I… sorry. I shave. I… I don't know… I… fuck, angel, fuck!" Crowley buries her hands in Aziraphale's hair as Aziraphale starts licking and nipping at her folds and clit, adding a finger or two to push Crowley's labia farther apart. "Angel… angel…"

Crowley's knees tremble, she trembles, shakes, like a string, like an autumn leaf. Aziraphale is groaning into her, making Crowley bend over, fold over Aziraphale's broad and strong back. When Crowley comes, Aziraphale groans again, pushes Crowley to sit on the counter and dives back to suck on her clit again, salmon and soup be damned which is a good name for a soup, come think of it… Ah!

Crowley comes again, her hair falling down her shoulders, her jeans and panties dangling helplessly off her foot. The black socks are still in place, regretfully. 

Aziraphale straightens up and rubs her back with a playful smirk. Crowley pulls her into a kiss. It's maddening, to taste herself on Aziraphale's wicked tongue. She's not sure who's the angel here, althout she's definitely in heaven.

Crowley hastily unbuttons Aziraphale's shirt, discovers she's sitting on a cherry tomato, but fuck it, and why do they have one there anyway? Aziraphale's bra is old-fashioned, something out of a grandma's chest, all lace and washed fabric. She bites the top of a breast, pushes the bra away to bite and lick a nipple, but Aziraphale pulls on her hair once again, making Crowley look her in the eyes, stormy and dark. She guides Crowley's hand inside her own trousers and panties. Crowley moans when she feels how wet Aziraphale is.

"See how wet I am for you? This is your doing, Crowley, and my undoing." Aziraphale kisses Crowley again, bites her bottom lip and peppers small kisses all over Crowley's sharp face. "Follow my hand…" 

Crowley is watching Aziraphale in awe. Her fingers fumble and circle Aziraphale's clit, one finger is guided inside Aziraphale. 

"Angel… Wonderful, sunny angel… yes… Want to make it good for you." 

Another tomato is ruined when Crowley shifts on the counter to get a better angle. Aziraphale trusts her to continue on her own, holding Crowley close, whispering hotly and dirtily into Crowley's air.

"Scratch me… want to feel you for days, you and those nasty nails of yours, yes… You're a scientist, aren't you, churro? Study me."

Crowley whimpers and cups Aziraphale's face, holds on to her neck and cheek and whatever she can grab at as her other hand is playing with Aziraphale's core. 

"Such a tease… such a delightful tease… My girl, my girl…" 

Aziraphale comes all over Crowley's hand and before either of them can catch her breath, Crowley pushes off the counter and falls to her knees and pulls Aziraphale's clothes just a bit down to lap and suck on Aziraphale's wetness. 

"Enjoying your spoils?" Aziraphale manages to utter.

Crowley just growls into Aziraphale's pubic hair. 

They end up eating the salmon straight from the tin where it was baked in. Crowley's jeans make it to Aziraphale's washing machine along with her underwear. 

"Stay the night?" Aziraphale says gingerly. Crowley just kisses her again.

Aziraphale has a small bath so it's Crowley who has her wash first. Aziraphale runs a sponge up and down Crowley's back. "So pretty… so precious and lovely."

Crowley is watching Aziraphale carefully. 

"I do like your body, darling. I like all of you, my pretty churro." Aziraphale's blue eyes are wide open and honest. Crowley doesn't have it in her to doubt or question. She gets to wash Aziraphale too. 

She'll have to go home in the morning to grab her scrubs - but when Aziraphale catches her wearing her discarded shirt while Crowley is making herself a cup of coffee, they kiss and touch so much that Crowley ends up a minute late which no one notices but she's grumpy for the rest of the day. 

"I'll bring the soup over to your place, churro. It's alright… please don't be grumpy." Aziraphale pecks Crowley on the lips and no, Aziraphale can't remain grumpy after that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are Balenciaga Crocs and I love those! Thank you lady Gladia for showing them to me.


End file.
